


Politically Incorrect

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animalistic, Chivalry, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex Toys, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt for Clint desperately wanting the traditional dominant Alpha and feeling stupid to have a crush on Phil, who is Sensitive New Age Alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Benson is cooing about her Beta lover again, about how gentle he is, how he asks permission each time before sliding his knotless cock into her, and Clint is happy for her, really he is, but if she doesn't shut the hell up sometime soon he may have to kill her.

"It's just so nice, after years of Alphas pawing after me and wanting to hold me down and everything." She wrinkles her nose, and Clint tries not to grimace.

"Yeah, I guess so." He wanders off in search of more coffee, feeling like the idiot he is. 

Working for SHIELD, dosed to the eyeballs on the best suppressants on the market and with no intention of ending up barefoot in anyone's kitchen (except for a couple guilty fantasies about having his arms full of goddamn babies, but every Omega has those) Clint should really be looking for something more... modern. Not this down-deep urge to surrender completely, this stereotypical craving for knot, this ridiculous porno-Omega need to be filled. He guesses it doesn't help that he'll have to run through an actual heat soon. At least two a year, or you risk blood clots and gonadal cancers. To say nothing of the more immediate effects, the light-headedness and nausea and confusion.

And then Phil comes in and everything stops. For Clint, anyway. He has a sharp nose, and covert knotslut that he is, he's always aware of the faintest whiff of Alpha. They have suppressants of their own to keep them calm and level-headed around Omegas and competing Alphas, and just like Clint's, you can't stay on them forever. A lot of Alphas go off completely once a year, and bolt off to fight clubs or Omega brothels until they're exhausted, but some spread it out, going on half-doses more often. It's the healthier way, but takes more self-control and a better head for remembering dosages. He shouldn't be surprised that Phil is one of these after all, usually so well-suppressed he can pass for Beta. 

Clint tries not to breathe too obviously as Phil passes him with a faint smile of acknowledgement. Everyone else is just sitting there, like that warm, peppery, _strong_ scent isn't wafting around on the air currents. It makes Clint want to drop to his knees, and he trembles to imagine what it would be like, both of them off the drugs and somewhere as a private as an old-fashioned claiming ground. He likes Phil, usually. Is positively fond of him and considers his world a better place because Phil inhabits it. This lust now isn't wholly new, but the intensity is staggering. Clint shivers, and finds an excuse to leave quickly. He's too distracted to shoot well, but goes down to the range anyway and slowly calms, scattered shots easing back to their normal deadly precision.

It's stupid. It's really fucking stupid to want what he wants, and it's stupider than stupid to want it from Phil. Of all the world's Alphas, Phil is probably the single least likely to throw Clint to the ground and claim him. He's probably into reverse-mounting and cross-dynamic shit and talking about feelings and alternative positions and all that crap. It makes Clint feel guilty when he thinks about all the things he doesn't want. He doesn't want to penetrate his Alpha, doesn't want to spend a heat in sexless bonding, and he doesn't want to ride on top like he's in control because he doesn't want to be in control. He wants to be overwhelmed, mastered and taken. He wants an Alpha who will keep him on his knees for days, knot him as many times as physically possible and fill him with come. He wants the grip of teeth on his neck, hard enough to break the skin. He wants to be tied under the open sky on a traditional claiming ground, and marked all over with his Alpha's scent.

Sitting close to Phil during a briefing, Clint wonders if he's going to die on this mission because nothing is sticking in his mind. He's not even in pre-heat, he has no excuse, but Phil is still on his half-dose and Clint is _wet_. He clenches and tries to think of very boring things, tries to actually pay attention when all he can see is Phil's teeth on the pen he's gnawing. And he usually doesn't do that, and Clint almost moans aloud, wanting to offer him something much more satisfying to bite.


	2. Chapter 2

It's so hard to concentrate with Clint around. It's always a little bit of an effort, but right now on his half-dose and with Clint easing into that pre-pre-heat that Phil is blessed and cursed enough to be able to smell, it's all he can do not to just bury his face in the crook of Clint's neck and breathe it in. He's feeling Alpha enough to want to keep Clint safe rather than letting him out on this mission. Having to sit back and handle dispatch is nerve-wracking when he feels like this. It's not just Clint but every one of his people that Phil wants to keep safe. Alpha, Beta, and Omega alike, it doesn't matter. All of them are his and he can't be with them. It's almost enough to make him whimper, but he controls himself until they get back. Even then he tries not to sniff them all too obviously, quivering with tension. Clint is one of the first to debrief, flushed with exertion and giving off heady clouds of delicate scent. Phil does his best to listen and not to just drown in the man's eyes like a fool. It's a near thing, and he does all his paperwork on autopilot, wondering if he ought to be on a slightly higher dose.

That night at home he doesn't even pretend he's going to do work. He sets his briefcase down, strips, folds his clothes neatly, and then crawls into bed with his knotting sleeve. It fits snugly and Phil does whimper as he starts to knead himself through that tight gel with both hands. It feels a lot like the real thing even if there's no scent. Phil's imagination has to supply that part, and the smell of Clint's sweat floats up unbidden as he sinks his teeth into his pillow. He grips his knot so tightly that it hurts a little, groaning as he imagines what it would be like to tie with Clint, all that power and speed and precision pinned under him. How sweet his blood would be when Phil's teeth cut him. The noises he would make as Phil pounded into him. Phil imagines it all in minute detail, placing the action on the Coulson claiming ground, which no Omega of his has ever actually wanted to use. He imagines pressing Clint down in the fallen leaves and comes, whining as he squeezes his knot with shaking hands, gasping and bucking. When his head is clear again he feels guilty. Clint is so fiercely independent that Phil sincerely doubts that he wants it like that. He sighs, rolling out of bed and heading to the shower to wash the sleeve and himself. Clint is probably into reverse-mounting and riding on top, not that Phil dislikes these things. Washing turns into another session in the shower, tugging at his shaft and kneading his knot as he pictures Clint above him, grinning as he impales himself on Phil's shaft and only the shaft, wet hole just teasing Phil's knot. 

Cleaning up for the second time, Phil begins to think that he might be in serious trouble. Climbing back into bed and cuddling his pillow, he knows it. All he can think about is the perfect shape of Clint's body, and how much he wants to hold him close and bathe in his sweet, musky scent. 

"Jesus," Phil mutters, and writes himself a note to check in with medical tomorrow before falling into a dream of chasing an Omega through the forest, pouncing and biting and claiming. 

He wakes up in a tangle of sheets and groans at the thought of going to work, feeling feverish and desperate and very much like he's going to make a fool of himself. He sits up and winces at the dull ache in his balls. He's still on half-suppressants, he shouldn't be rutting like this. Then again, it's been a while since he has craved a specific Omega. He's not sure when Barton became Clint or when Clint started to smell so fucking good, but now he does and Phil is trapped. He takes a deep breath, swallows his half-pill, and gets up. He puts his self-control back on with each item of clothing. By the time he slides into his jacket, he feels almost like himself again.


	3. Chapter 3

It's always this way. The injuries that really fuck him up are the ones that could happen to any schlub. Clint threw himself off a building yesterday and came out without a scratch. Today, he slips in the fucking shower and knocks himself out. He's already late for work, and blinking awake a minute later, he groans. His phone is in the other room, and he really, really doesn't want to get up. Everything is sort of fuzzy still, and when Phil comes in Clint slurs, "Oh, shit," afraid that he's hurt himself badly enough to hallucinate. And then his hallucination is gathering him up into its arms, one hand cradling the back of his head.

"Clint, are you all right?"

"'S only out f'r a minnit," Clint assures him, clinging weakly. He's dimly aware that he's still naked, and is wondering if he should do something about that when Phil helps him to his feet. He wobbles badly, but Phil is there, gentle and encouraging as he helps Clint limp out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he helps him into bed and tucks him in. Phil's hands are so strong and so gentle that Clint can't help whimpering, and hopes to god that he's not hard. The pain in his head helps, and he groans quietly.

"It'll be okay, Clint," Phil says softly, petting the part of his head that doesn't hurt. Clint means to laugh or say something smart, but all that comes out is a quiet and formless noise because head injuries are miserable and Phil is making him feel a little better. He turns his face against Phil's palm, and breathes in his scent.

"So glad you're here," Clint whispers.

"Me too, Clint." He runs Clint through the usual post head injury checklist.

"…What are you doing here?" Clint finally asks, blinking up at him.

Phil blushes and coughs quietly. "I was worried about you."

"Oh." Clint does his best not to just melt completely. Phil was worried about him. The idea is practically enough to make Clint swoon. It's so protective and proprietary of Phil to come here like this. So fucking Alpha, and Clint shivers. Phil pulls the blanket over Clint, who smiles shyly up at him. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

"I would have been all right, but I'd probably still be picking myself up."

Phil growls a little, and Clint's eyes widen. Phil blushes and turns away, pulling out his phone and calling Clint in to work. It's just as well, it was going to be all forms today anyway. He watches Phil, taking in every protective and possessive line of his body. He's not even touching Clint, but Clint squirms anyway. He's still got a headache, but he's always been irrepressible, and he actually is getting hard this time, shit. He arranges the blanket to hide it, and smiles at Phil when he turns back. "You don't have to stay," he says, and then wants to kick himself right in the already hurt part of his head, because Phil hasn't fucking offered to stay. Phil just shakes his head, and Clint cringes. He's headed into heat and getting emotional, so he can feel his goddamned eyes tearing up to make everything that little bit more awkward.

"Of course I’m staying," Phil says, and strokes Clint's hair. "I wouldn't leave you alone like this." Clint whimpers, and turns to nuzzle Phil's hand without thinking about it. There's a sudden surge of that wonderful Alpha scent, and Clint whines. He wriggles as Phil's hand slides down to the side of his neck, nails digging in just where his teeth would if he was fucking Clint from behind. Clint moans, and Phil pulls away like he has been burned. "I'm sorry," he breathes, wild-eyed and a little flushed. Clint whimpers, shaking his head as much as he can. "No, it's okay. I liked it."

"You've got a head injury, Clint. I should be helping you, not…" He shrugs, a jagged, unhappy little movement. Clint whines and takes his hand.

"Phil?"

"Yes?"

"Go get some water and the painkillers in my bathroom cabinet, come back here, and we'll talk about this."

Phil smiles, scent going musky and wonderful again. "Okay," he says softly, leaning down and drowning Clint in that scent as he kisses his forehead. Clint is reluctant to let go of him, but he does and is rewarded by Phil's swift return with a glass of water and one of the Vicodin horse pills that Clint keeps for situations like this.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil is not much good at conversations like this, because to most people he's just efficient Agent Coulson and it's been a long time since an Omega has looked at him the way Clint does. He shivers, and fidgets with his own water glass. He's not thirsty, but pouring one for himself had seemed the thing to do.

"So," Clint says, "you want me." It's as direct as an arrow to the heart, and Phil has to smile.

"Yeah. I do."

"That's a good start. How long?"

"It sort of crept up on me." He risks a sidelong glance and Clint grins at him.

"Same here. Are you, uh, are you into reverse-mounting and riding?"

And Phil is, even if there's a little splash of disappointment. If Clint is asking this soon, it must really be important to him. "I am."

"Oh. I kinda figured."

"Clint?"

"See, I'm not. Into reverse-mounting and riding and platonic bonding and all that other stuff."

Phil does his best not to growl, heart speeding up. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. Really." Clint blushes, looking down and biting his lip, a picture-perfect bashful Omega.

"I'm an old-fashioned Alpha, Clint, and I haven't so much as bought you a drink."

"Let's fix that."

They get started fixing it a few days later, with a nice dinner and several drinks. They do it old school, with Phil paying for everything and opening doors and pulling out chairs. Every gesture of chivalry makes Clint swoon a little inside, and he tries not to show it too much, knowing Phil can smell it on him. Everything is bright and clear and vivid the way it always is right before Clint goes into heat. He's easing off his suppressants, and he knows everyone can smell that. A few Alphas turn their heads to watch Clint as Phil leads him to their table, and Phil growls softly, his expression not changing at all. Clint presses in against his side, fighting the urge to whimper and bury his face in Phil's neck. He'd be willing to bet that his eyes are dilated, and he wonders if he should even be out in public. Phil has reserved them a corner table that lets him tuck Clint in between the wall and his body, both of them sitting on the same side of the table. It's dim and quiet here, too, and it makes Clint feel safer.

"Are you holding up all right?" Phil asks after the waiter has left them alone with menus and water.

"Y-yeah, it's just a bit… I haven't gone off in a long time. It's a little scary."

"I'll protect you," Phil says softly, and Clint does whimper, unable to help it. Phil shivers, and takes Clint's hand under the table, squeezing it reassuringly. Clint manages to concentrate long enough to figure out what he wants to order, but feels like he can't speak when the waiter returns. Phil orders for both of them, and gently coaxes some basic biographical information out of Clint as they wait. Clint has a hard time keeping track of the conversation, but does his best. His awareness is consumed with the scent of Phil, and the clothed warmth of him so close.

"Fuck, am I in heat already?" Clint murmurs, and Phil just smiles.

"Not yet. It's close, though."

Clint squirms. "Good."

"God, Clint, you're going to be the death of me. I almost think you'd want to use our claiming ground."

"…You have a claiming ground?"

"An old one. It's been in the Coulson family for generations."

"Fuck, Phil. You might have to take me home, talking like that."

"Hold on. Relax. Let me buy you dinner."

Clint takes this sage advice, and even though the lack of appetite is setting in the food is good enough that he cleans his plate. Phil pets him as he finishes the last few bites, and Clint does his best not to melt. He doesn't take more than a few sips of his wine, but is still in a haze as Phil leads him out again. At home he wants to just take Phil on up to bed, but the thought of actually saving their first time together for a real claiming ground is too much to resist. Phil just beams when Clint tells him so, and gives him a chaste kiss goodnight.


	5. Chapter 5

The Coulson claiming ground is five acres of forest with a little house on it to contain supplies and to give the couple a place to prepare. Clint loves it at first sight, half in heat already and covered in scent-blocking spray so Phil's not too distracted to drive their intimate little world through the dark forest. Clint will bathe the stuff off when they get there, and squirms in his seat thinking about it.

"Nearly there," Phil assures him, voice gone thick with rut.

"Good."

They wind their way uphill through the forest, finally catching sight of the cabin up ahead. Clint whines, low and needful, and Phil's knuckles go white on the wheel. "Jesus."

Clint just nods, and gets out as soon as they stop, Phil right behind him. The cabin is small but well-made, and Phil pulls an old-fashioned key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, gesturing for Clint to go first. He walks in cautiously, looking around the dim interior. It's warm in here, a banked fire burning in the stone hearth under a wooden tub of water. A towel and soap are laid nearby, and the bed is made.

"Phil…"

"I came up here earlier today. The water should be about right."

Clint grabs him and kisses him, rough and hungry and trying to put everything he feels into it. Phil growls, kissing back and then gently pushing Clint away. "You want to do this right."

"I do," Clint breathes, and quickly strips and scrambles into the tub as Phil turns his back, quivering slightly. Clint washes and dries quickly, and throws on one of the two robes hanging near the door, going outside to wait as Phil bathes. They both have to be naked and clean for the chase, and Clint shudders, watching the moon rise.

At last Phil comes out, and they can begin. In the old days it was traditional for the Omegas to dance for Alphas, enticing them into the chase. Clint can dance, but it feels like now is not the time. He just slides out of the robe and watches Phil for a long moment. Phil is already half hard, and Clint whines, turning and bolting into the woods. He knows he can run faster and longer than Phil, but this is Phil's home ground and Clint wants to be caught. His pulse pounds in his throat and his cock, and he runs on swift bare feet in big loops, knowing that at the center of the ground is the ritual clearing where Phil will fuck him.

Clint runs and sweats while Phil bides his time, until suddenly strong arms snatch him into the darkness behind a tree. Clint struggles, a reflex he can't help, and then Phil is biting the crook of his neck from behind and Clint's whole body goes limp. Phil supports him, growling softly.

"Mine."

"Yours," Clint gasps, and whines when Phil lets him go.

"Hush, I'll take care of you." With an arm around his waist, Phil leads Clint to the center of the clearing, and there pushes him down onto his hands and knees. Clint moans, arching his back deeply and spreading his legs as wide as he can, chest almost touching the earth. Phil snarls and swarms over him, all perfect Alpha scent and warm, living weight. Clint keens and then wails as Phil bites his neck and thrusts into him in the same motion. Even at half-size Phil's knot is thick and heavy and amazing, and Clint sobs and writhes as Phil fucks him deep and hard, grunting with effort. His knot forces its way in and out, expanding rapidly as Clint keens and struggles to offer more of his neck to Phil. He comes three times before Phil does, pouring into him with a deep groan, knot inflating fully and stretching Clint wide. It hurts just a little, and Clint's eyes roll back at how fucking perfect it is. Phil whimpers softly and licks Clint's cheek, reaching around to squeeze and stroke his cock, triggering a quivering aftershock that makes both of them groan.

The spend the night tying, and finally fall asleep right where they are, the stars shining down. Clint wakes up at dawn to find Phil carrying him back to the cabin, and smiles.


End file.
